


Pen, John

by mirrored_sage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrored_sage/pseuds/mirrored_sage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tossed pen causes a commotion in 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pen, John

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fiction. It's fluffy and happy so enjoy! :) I've also posted it on my tumblr blog (mirrored-sage)

Dust motes floated in the morning air, making themselves visible in the streams of light and John sighed as he walked into the kitchen. As normal, he was greeted with a huge mess and miscellaneous jarred body parts. John walked to the sink and pulled out yesterday’s gently used tea mug. He was thankful there were no fingers, toes, or slabs of interestingly mutilated flesh accompanying the dishes in the sink. He turned on the kettle and washed out his mug then meandered over to the kitchen table, which was covered in chemicals, papers, folders, and scorch marks. John pulled out a chair and used one of the stacks of notes to push back any odd objects, making room to sit himself down, drink his tea, and write his blog.  
John turned to face the sitting room and scanned it for his laptop. He spotted it in Sherlock’s chair. He silently cursed Sherlock for once again for using his machine. Why did the man prefer John’s laptop; he had his own, for God’s sakes. John grabbed his laptop and took it back to the kitchen table, made his tea, then sat down.  
After about a half hour of writing, editing, and rereading, John heard Sherlock’s feet hit the floor in his bedroom. John paused his typing midsentence and braced himself for the coming minute’s imminent spout as concerns to disturbing the ordered chaos of the kitchen’s experiments and evidence. John thought to himself, as long as Sherlock didn’t give mind to the disrespects he paid to John’s property, he, himself, wouldn’t give mind to moving about Sherlock’s happenings when they got in the way.  
Sherlock rose from his bed then violently ripped the sheet off and wrapped himself in its residual heat gathered from his sleeping body. The tall man was too lazy to bother with his robe that was draped over the chair. He padded out of his room, clutching the warm sheet, and moved into the kitchen.  
Sherlock flumped down in the chair that was across from where John was sitting at the table. Once he was settled, Sherlock stared at John expectantly.  
“No. No, Sherlock, I am not going to make your tea. If you’re too lazy to make it, you’ll have to go with out.” John said and tried to busy himself with typing so his friend couldn’t pester him with extraordinary laziness.  
Sherlock huffed and continued his stare at, now, the top of John’s head. “You moved my notes—and got arsenic powder on them. . .”  
John looked up and scoffed at Sherlock. “Christ, Sherlock! Why in bloody hell are you keeping arsenic powder on the kitchen table!? You do realize I eat here sometimes and that I don’t wear chemical hazard gloves where ever I go!?”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, amused by the army doctor’s anger, and got up to make his tea. He felt John’s glare on his back slowly recede down to the computer screen and hear him start typing again. Sherlock turned away from the counter and leaned against it as he waited for the tea to brew. He watched John’s speed hunt and peck typing and studied his friend’s concentrated features. All the movements and quirks of his friend so memorized and known, Sherlock could nearly predict John’s next movement down to the tiniest of micro expressions. Maybe he aught to be more careful about which kinds of poisonous substances he kept at the table—he didn’t want to poison his only loyal blogger. A small tendril of affection for the loyalty John showed tried to wiggle through Sherlock.  
Grabbing his tea and returning to his seat, Sherlock smothered the warm emotion with thoughts of what had to be done today. He drug his microscope up to his face and examined the plate of dying, rotting cell cultures. “Pen, John.” Sherlock said aloud as he grappled for blank pages, still staring at the cultures.  
John glanced up from his screen then looked the table over for a pen. Turning up no yield, he looked down at the floor beside him and found a pen there. The short man grunted as he leaned over to grab the pen for Sherlock then used the momentum of his throw to hoist himself back up.  
Sherlock made a grab for the flying pen without looking, like always, as he was still looking for a blank paper. Instead of catching the projectile writing utensil, he missed, and the pen struck him in the forehead then got its clip stuck in the man’s inky black curls on the way down. The pen dangled in Sherlock’s line of vision, taking advantage of the stunned receiver.  
John saw the whole event and was put over the top by Sherlock’s shocked expression. The army doctor howled with laughter at his friend. Sherlock sat frustrated and shamed by a pen as tears from laughing so hard started to run down John’s cheeks. Another stray wave of affection for John passed over Sherlock’s stomach and he started to chuckle. John was in complete hysterics at the detective’s sudden klutziness and the pen that hung from his hair. John laughed and sputtered, “You jus—you—HAH—it hit you and—ha HAA—I can’t even!!”  
The wave of affection grew and washed over Sherlock once again, now forcing him to think about how John’s laugh was actually really funny and maybe even be what some would consider adorable. Sherlock began to laugh harder; the pen bobbed and wagged back and forth with the rumble of his laughing. This made John laugh even harder and almost loose his balance in his chair, which made Sherlock, in turn, laugh harder because of John’s pause in laughter to make room for a sharp gasp, clambering rebalance, and a surprised expression.  
With all the laughter, the clip of the pen had loosened its grip on Sherlock’s curls and fell off mid-swing. The pen flew off to the right and plopped directly into Sherlock’s tea mug. This brought another huge roar of laughter from the both of them.  
Mrs. Hudson walked into the kitchen just then to see what all the noise was about. “Oh, boys. Look at this mess! You two are adorable when you laugh.” She smiled and chortled at them.  
“You are quite adorable when you laugh, John.” Sherlock said affectionately between slowing chuckles.


End file.
